


the slow path

by fluffysfics



Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Attempted hookups, Drunk flirting, F/M, M/M, punk Master, the Master is bad at letting go of his past, the Master’s time on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: Miserable and distracted, the Master tries to forget his problems with the help of a human he’s been flirting with.The Doctor, however, is not so easy to forget.
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Original Male Character(s), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696336
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	the slow path

**Author's Note:**

> would strongly recommend reading at least the previous fic in this series before this one, for context!!

“Feels weird bein’ here without the girls, doesn’t it?”

The Master looked at his drinking companion. Took in the spiked green hair, the chains wrapped around his wrists, the eyeliner under deep brown eyes that he’d smudged at some point during the night. He nudged aside a few glasses and rested both of his elbows on the bar between them, flashing Cricket a grin. 

“A bit. Nice, though, having some privacy. Don’t you agree?” He leaned a little closer, watching a blush bloom on Cricket’s cheeks. Pretty, for a human. Pretty, full stop, actually. 

They’d been playing this game for weeks, now. Flirting, mostly from the Master’s end. Glances that were less-than-innocent, touches that lasted a second too long, strayed somewhere that they shouldn’t. He was pretty sure that everyone who regularly spent time around the both of them (mostly May and Tasha, honestly) was getting very fed up of watching them. 

It had been a _long_ time since the Master had flirted seriously with someone who wasn’t the Doctor. Not since Missy. Getting used to the lack of _murder_ was certainly...interesting. Not boring, though. He rather liked the ways that humans went about these things, sometimes. Much more subtle. 

Of course, he could probably have looked Cricket dead in the eyes at least two weeks ago and loudly said ‘let’s fuck’ and he would have gotten exactly what he wanted, but where was the fun in that? Not to mention, he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he wanted. This time around, he’d been so utterly focused on the Doctor, on his love and hate and anger for her, that it felt... _strange_ , to have even an ounce of his attention directed elsewhere. 

And then there was the fact that he liked to make a show out of being completely disgusted by humans, and it wasn’t _all_ show. He was just...finding that this particular human was quite pretty, and somehow managed to be gentle, understanding, _and_ a rebellious, motorcycle-riding punk. The Master really couldn’t have asked for much more. 

“Guess it is nice,” Cricket said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Still got good company.” He nudged the Master’s leg with the toe of one boot. He was drunk, quite considerably so. The Master had downed just as many drinks, but he’d stayed away from lacing any of them with ginger for once, so he wasn’t feeling much more than a light buzz. If he got properly drunk, he didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid, like tell Cricket who he really was. It was one of those days. 

He’d not slept for quite a while now, and he’d spent the previous night lying in bed, watching hot summer rain pound the pavement outside and thinking about the Doctor. The Master had been spending a lot of nights like that, these last 35 years. She’d given him a lot to think about. 

Naturally, he’d been going about his day in a foul mood since then, until it had occurred to him to call Cricket and ask him if he wanted a drink or ten. _Just the two of us_ , he’d said over the phone, in an almost conspiratorial tone, and he’d practically _felt_ the thrill of excitement his words had caused. 

“Harry?” 

The Master blinked. Maybe he should actually try and sleep tonight. As fun as this evening had been, between music and drinks and _flirting_ , he’d been retreating into his thoughts an alarming amount. 

“Zoned out,” he offered by way of explanation, shaking his head slightly. “Did you say something?”

“I asked...” Cricket leaned closer, and the Master smelt alcohol on his breath, then felt lips brush against his ear for a fraction of a second. Fuck. “If you wanted to get out of here.”

_Fuck_. 

“Oh. Heh. Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“ _Yes_.”

The Master remembered a few weeks ago; the soft haze of being high, the inquisitive questioning of his friends, the damned _peer pressure_ , and the feeling of slightly hesitant lips against his own that had quickly turned far hungrier than they should. If there was any human he was going to get this close to, this human was the one he wanted it to be. He needed to remember how to have this sort of fun, needed to drag his thoughts away from the Doctor. 

“C’mon.” Cricket slid off of his bar stool, catching the sleeve of the Master’s jacket to pull him along, out of the bar. He spoke in hushed tones that were an unpleasant reminder of the fact that it was 1978, and people still cared far too much about other people’s private lives. “My flat’s only a couple blocks away, if you want...”

“ _No_ ,” the Master said, surprising himself. No? Why had he said that, he wanted this- 

Ah. 

No, he didn’t want to be quite _that_ human yet. Sex in someone else’s bed, _staying the night_...no. 

He looked around for inspiration, twisting his hand to grab Cricket’s arm and dragging him into an alleyway down the side of the pub. It was mercifully empty. The Master grinned, shoving his friend up against the wall. Time to-

_Paris, 1943. Rage, rage, the burning rage of being outsmarted. Slamming the Doctor against the railings of the Eiffel Tower, a hand around her throat, and the sudden manic grin on her face only giving him the mad impulse to be impressed, to kiss her-_

No. _No_. Not now, not with the only human on Earth that he _genuinely_ didn’t want to hurt. 

“Harry? You alright, love?” 

Oh, that didn’t help. _Love_ , said with such genuine concern that it made his hearts ache through layers of anger and frustration and tipsiness. Not fair, _so_ not fair. 

“...Nerves,” he lied. Cricket blinked. 

“Right. Yeah. You’ve never...” He smiled, and the dull moonlight caught on his lips. The Master let him go, took a step back. Alright, he could act like he didn’t quite know what he was doing. Like all of his problems were just simple, human _nerves_. 

“Yeah. Never done this with a man,” he said, wondering if that counted as true if he really had never fucked a _human_ man. Plenty of men from other species, but Cricket didn’t have to know that. The Master offered one of those sweet smiles he’d done so often as O. The Doctor had liked those smiles, had fallen for them so easily. 

“That smile’s fake, I’m not stupid.”

The Master found himself so surprised by that observation that he barely even registered being pulled closer and then pushed gently back against the wall. Not until there were warm lips pressed against his own, in a kiss that was a lot softer than he’d expected. 

His eyes fluttered shut, hands going to Cricket’s waist, keeping infuriatingly _still_ for now. He had a part to play, a shy human having his first _genuine_ kiss with another man. Remember being O, remember how to be endearingly awkward, even a little clumsy. 

Cricket pulled away. His eyes were darker than the Master’s own, almost black, and full of a slightly unfocused concern. He pressed a hand against the Master’s cheek, a hand half-covered in leather by a fingerless biking glove, and it was so _warm_. 

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, Harry.” 

The Master just stared back at him, letting O’s demeanour slip away again. How would Cricket react, exactly, if he told him the truth- that he was a nearly-immortal alien stranded on Earth by that ‘ex-girlfriend’ he was always complaining about, who was another alien, and the reason he’d hesitated about a kiss was that he’d just had a flashback of dangling that same ex-girlfriend off the edge of the Eiffel Tower during the Second World War? 

He reached out, grabbed Cricket’s jacket by the spiked lapels, and pulled him into another kiss. 

This time, the Master didn’t bother holding back. He kissed _hard_ , with tongues and teeth and hands forcing themselves up under shirts. One heart, only one heart, so _very_ fragile. And yet, right now, the Master was the one who felt like he was breaking apart. 

He hadn’t spared even a second of thought for _romance_ this regeneration. Had barely spared a thought for sex, aside from idle fantasies that were far more about power than pleasure, really. And now here was this human, one ridiculous little human, pushing him against the wall and kissing him like his lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. 

The Master broke away from the kiss, breathing hard. 

“Your real name’s not Cricket,” he said, like it mattered, like he wasn’t hiding far filthier secrets. 

“My real name’s Robert,” Cricket said, nestling his face into the Master’s neck, lavishing wet, drunken kisses onto his skin that felt far better than they had any right to. “Fuckin’ hate it.”

“Oh. Me too,” the Master decided. Fuck, he couldn’t imagine being that open about his secrets. Not ever, not with anyone. 

He tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. The Doctor was out there somewhere; a thousand different versions of her, whizzing about in that ridiculous blue box, and he was stuck down here. He hated her. He loved her so much that it hurt, but he _hated_ \- 

Cricket pressed a leg in between his own, grinding up against him, and a curse echoed into the warm night air. It took the Master a second to realise that he was the one who had sworn. 

“Do that again,” he demanded, and was almost surprised when his request was fulfilled without the slightest hesitation. The Master buried his face in Cricket’s shoulder, rocking his hips against the leg pressed between his own. He couldn’t look him in the eyes, couldn’t bear to see him. For someone who wore a safety pin in his ear, this human was so very _sweet_ , and sweetness was something that the Master was utterly unequipped to deal with. 

“Your heart’s goin’ a mile a minute,” Cricket murmured. “You still nervous?” The Master felt a gentle hand curl into the back of his hair, stroking it. His face twisted into something like anguish; he pulled away suddenly, letting out a yell into the night air. 

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve someone so _good_ , could hardly even enjoy the pleasure that his body was now complaining about the sudden loss of. Every sweet word, every movement, it reminded him of the Doctor. Fighting with her latest self, or close, desperately secret trysts with her very first self- the first self _he’d_ known, at least-, quick, fumbling things in corridors or crypts or gardens on Gallifrey that he would have died to keep secret. 

“Fuck this,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall. “ _Fuck_ this.” It had been- what, five minutes? Hardly more than that, and the Master felt wrecked, shaking and broken and turned on and more conflicted than he’d felt in so many years. Stranded on a backwater planet for the best part of a century, and his damned mind wouldn’t let him enjoy a fucking _hookup_. 

“Come back to my flat,” Cricket said softly. He wasn’t standing so close anymore; he’d taken a step back, the Master could hear his boots shuffling anxiously a few feet away. “I’m...pissed as _shit_ , can’t promise I can offer any good advice. But come back to my flat. Talk to me. Or don’t,” he added, seeing how the Master’s expression twisted up again at that. “We don’t have to do anything. But I like you, I want you to know you’re not alone.”

Fuck absolutely _everything_ about this, the Master decided. He willed the stinging tears to fuck off, opening his eyes when he was sure they’d gone. He could fix all of this right now. Bend Cricket’s mind to his will, make him forget this night had ever happened, carry on and let him wonder forever why _Harry_ had suddenly stopped flirting with him. 

“Okay,” he said instead. “Fine. I’ll come back with you.” He hesitated, forcing two more words past a vehement blockade in his chest. “...Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” 

——

Human heartbeats felt like they were missing something. Two extra half-beats of urgency. Instead, they were slow, an easy thump-thump, thump-thump, that felt like a vague echo of something more insistent he’d known so inescapably for most of his lives. 

The Master wondered if the Doctor would have liked Cricket. Ridiculous smoking habit, drank too much, drove a motorcycle recklessly enough that it was a miracle he hadn’t crashed it yet. Went to protests, threw bricks at the police, fought viciously with every bone in his body for what he believed in. Somehow managed to be the most caring, understanding person that the Master had met since he’d laid eyes on a little boy called Theta Sigma so many years ago. 

He didn’t much care what the Doctor might have thought, actually. Cricket was _his_ to like. 

This would have to come to an end eventually, but right now it was barely getting started, and he was so, _so_ tired of the Doctor. 

The Master curled his fingers into the t-shirt of the sleeping human lying half-underneath him, and promised himself that he wouldn’t let the Doctor wreck any more of his nights this year. Maybe next year too, maybe even the year after that.

He’d take this slowly. He didn’t have a choice about that, but perhaps the slow path wasn’t quite so bad sometimes, in moments like this. 

**Author's Note:**

> this...started out a lot less angsty in my head, and then it got sad,,
> 
> hope you enjoyed it despite the Unintentional Angst(tm), comments and kudos very much appreciated <3


End file.
